


the safest place to hide

by cuttothequickk



Series: makedamnsure [4]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Breakfast, Coffee, Developing Relationship, Flirting, Introspection, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Morning After, Realizations, Sharing Clothes, Sleepy Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 16:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttothequickk/pseuds/cuttothequickk
Summary: Shizuo is not alone when he wakes up.





	the safest place to hide

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "makedamnsure" by Taking Back Sunday, as usual. This note feels repetitive.

Shizuo wakes up when the light filtering in around his curtains turns the room a dim, hazy gray, the comforter soft around him and the blankets warm for this time of year. He sighs contentment, still too asleep to fully remember the night before, but present enough to feel the satisfaction in his almost-sore muscles, the calm radiating through his bones, all stretched out and comfortable in a warm bed. The heat in the blankets almost lulls him back to sleep, but next to him there’s a flash of black hair, a strip of pale skin stretched tight over sharp collarbones, and then Shizuo is actually awake because someone is here and what the actual fuck.

 

Of course it’s Izaya; Shizuo doesn’t make a habit of picking up strange bedfellows—or any bedfellows other than Izaya, actually—and Izaya is asleep, the usual dark smudges of insomnia under his eyes reduced to pale violet crescents. The covers are pooling around his waist as he breathes in and out and in and out, the dim light of the room turning black hair thick and shadow-matte.

 

Of course it’s Izaya, and Shizuo guesses he shouldn’t be surprised, but of course he’s surprised, because he’s never seen Izaya like this. He hadn’t even realized they’d fallen asleep together. In fact, once he thinks about it, he’s sure that Izaya had already climbed out of bed before Shizuo had fallen asleep, cackling about stupid monsters unable to keep their eyes open after sex and digging through the pockets of his black skinny jeans in preparation for donning them and heading out. Beyond that, Shizuo has no memory, and he pushes himself up onto an elbow and ignores the feeling in his chest that radiates warmth of the emotional rather than the physical variety.

 

Shizuo sits up in bed and stares down at Izaya, admiring a few dark bruises staining the pale skin of the informant’s neck and chest. One is still red and puffy, and Shizuo wonders if he’ll get to watch it turn to purple and maybe even green and yellow, a mosaic splashed out to show that Izaya belongs to someone, that Izaya belongs to Shizuo. His hair looks so silky that Shizuo can’t help but reach out and run a hand through it, the scent drifting up to him, and—oh. Izaya didn’t leave and come back. He never left. He must have taken a shower, and now his hair smells like Shizuo’s shampoo, and that somehow says so much more even than the bruises, and—

 

Fuck. Shizuo wants to wake the flea up and kick him out, wants to pick him up and dump him directly out the window, really, but then Izaya shifts and lets out a little huff of air, burying his head a little bit further into the pillow, and all thought of disturbing him is gone. Izaya is always awake, it seems, always working or running around or instigating fights, and all of a sudden it seems gravely important that the little flea get some actual, real rest.

 

(If that rest has to happen in Shizuo’s bed, then so be it. Shizuo can make this sacrifice.)

 

Shizuo climbs carefully out of bed and finds a pair of boxers, definitely his because they actually fit when he pulls them on, and then he snatches up his white button-down from the day before and shrugs it over his shoulders before slipping out the door into his apartment’s small kitchen. He pulls open a cabinet and finds coffee that he thinks maybe Kasuka gave him a couple years ago, along with a French press that will be used for the first time today. It’s not too hard to read through the instructions and heat up the water it will take to create a steaming cup of black coffee for the person currently sleeping in his bed. Something about the domesticity of the whole situation spikes a strange mixture of fear and desire through Shizuo’s chest, and he pushes the feeling away and starts frying a couple of eggs.

 

The door to the bedroom creaks open right as Shizuo is finishing up the eggs, and Shizuo turns around to see Izaya rubbing his eyes with his delicate fists, clad only in his boxer-briefs and a black shirt that’s so big the collar is slipping down to reveal one small, sharp, bite-bruised shoulder. Shizuo’s heart beats fast.

 

“Is that my shirt?” There’s no way it’s anything but, because it’s hanging off Izaya like he’s a tiny fairy waif or something, and the predatory instinct in Shizuo’s chest leaps up in applause. The hickeys, the hair smelling like Shizuo, and now the shirt. And fuck, Izaya is staring up at him with these sleep-glazed eyes, his expression hazy and still too far away to respond or probably to even hear the question, standing propped against the doorframe because he’s definitely too unsteady to walk, and Shizuo sets down the pan he’s holding and marches over to Izaya and buries his nose into Izaya’s hair, arms coming up around Izaya’s shoulders with complete disregard for the way Izaya’s hands are still up near his face, his elbows pressed into his sides as Shizuo pulls him close and lets Izaya rest against him instead of the wall.

 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, voice soft and hoarse with sleep, and Shizuo feels his heart leap and squeezes a little tighter.

 

“Yeah?” Shizuo asks. Izaya doesn’t respond except to maneuver his hands out from under Shizuo’s arms so he can wrap one in the front of Shizuo’s shirt and rest the other on Shizuo’s back. “Sleep well?” Shizuo speaks, lowering his voice so that it’s soft and soothing, unwilling to pull Izaya from this easy vulnerability he’s sporting in his sleepy haze.

 

Izaya only nods and then tilts his head back, his eyes a little bit clearer when they meet Shizuo’s. Shizuo can’t help but smile at the soft expression on Izaya’s face, and he presses a kiss to Izaya’s forehead, eliciting a quirk of lips and a little hum.

 

“I made breakfast.”

 

Izaya makes a face, and Shizuo laughs.

 

“Come on, it’s just eggs and coffee. Black, just for you.”

 

Izaya keeps leaning against Shizuo as they make their way to the table, still quiet and sleepy, and Shizuo swallows at how incredibly sweet that seems and keeps an arm wrapped around Izaya’s shoulder, resisting the urge to press a kiss to Izaya’s hair. He chews his lip instead, feeling only now the urge for a cigarette, maybe more to keep his mouth and hands occupied so he doesn’t give in to the desire to twine his fingers with Izaya’s and pull their hands to his mouth to kiss every dangerous, narrow finger just because he wants to.

 

Shizuo sits Izaya in one of his two chairs and goes back to the counter to dish up their eggs and pour Izaya a mug of steaming coffee out of the French press. Izaya is yawning, blinking himself a little bit more awake, his hands reaching for the mug and pulling a sip, his eyes fluttering shut and a small noise of gratitude slipping from his lips. Shizuo sits across from him and tries not to stare, biting into his eggs and wishing vaguely for a cigarette again.

 

Izaya doesn’t touch the eggs for a few minutes, the entirety of his focus concentrated on sipping his coffee and staring blankly off into space, like he’s still not totally awake. Shizuo is finished with his eggs before Izaya even starts, and he fits a cigarette to his lips and goes to light it, watching Izaya to gauge whether he should wait until the informant leaves.

 

Izaya is apparently awake enough to quirk a half-grin and shake his head, meeting Shizuo’s gaze as he takes a bite of egg. Shizuo takes that to mean Izaya doesn’t care, even though when he thinks about it, nothing in the gesture really gave him any sort of permission. Still, he lights the cigarette and drags in smoke, feeling a little bit of his strange restlessness drop off when the nicotine hits his veins. He must make some sort of face because Izaya smirks and rolls his eyes, swallowing down more coffee and licking his lips.

 

“Such an addict, Shizu-chan,” Izaya drawls, clearly awake enough at this point to offer the insult with nothing but clarity in his voice.

 

Shizuo takes another drag and taps ash off into the ashtray on his window sill, rolling his eyes and leaning forward so his right forearm rests on the table and he’s angled towards Izaya, who sticks out his tongue and takes another bite of eggs. The plate is still half full when the informant pushes it away, but Shizuo is glad he at least got Izaya to eat something. And the sleep he got in Shizuo’s bed looks like it’s doing him good, maybe. Hopefully.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Shizuo says, not feeling the need to come back with something sharp for once.

 

Izaya purses his lips. “How did you even start?”

 

Shizuo laughs and takes another drag. “Would you believe me if I said I thought it would help me relax, be less angry or something?”

 

Izaya considers this. “Does it?”

 

Shizuo shrugs. “It…quiets things. Sometimes.”

 

The way Izaya looks at him makes him think maybe he’s revealed something he wasn’t supposed to reveal to a proclaimed enemy, but instead of feeling threatened, he just feels calm. Safe. Izaya just looks peaceful, completely serene in Shizuo’s shirt, in Shizuo’s kitchen, drinking Shizuo’s coffee and eating Shizuo’s breakfast.

 

And then Izaya nods, a short, sharp thing that speaks more than words could to say that he knows what Shizuo means. The informant eyes Shizuo with a certain wariness before he responds. “I don’t believe you, actually.”

 

Shizuo isn’t expecting this, and it makes him raise an eyebrow. “Why not?”

 

Izaya bites his lip and shakes his head, and Shizuo notices that his leg is bouncing quickly underneath the table—maybe a nervous tick that Shizuo hasn’t seen before.

 

Finally, Izaya shakes his head. “I just don’t see it. Teenage you logically deciding you would go buy cigarettes to calm yourself down.” Izaya takes another sip of coffee. “I think you got upset and Tom-san gave you one. And you liked it, so you bought your own.”

 

He’s actually pretty close to right. But: “It wasn’t Tom. It was Kasuka.”

 

Izaya actually looks a little bit surprised at this. “Kasuka giving his older brother cigarettes?” But then his face cracks into a grin. “Actually, yeah, that fits perfectly. After all, the younger Heiwajima certainly is cooler. I could see Kasuka at 15 having cigarettes when your 18-year-old self didn’t.”

 

Shizuo wants to be mad, but Izaya is grinning in a manner Shizuo’s never seen before, a little delighted thing, like he’s proud of himself and he’s amused by Shizuo, and that he’s glad that Shizuo can amuse him.

 

Shizuo takes the last drag of the cigarette and stubs it out. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, indulging Izaya for once. “You got us both all pinned down. Me all goody-two-shoes; Kasuka all cool and popular.”

 

Izaya smirks. “Oh come on, Shizu-chan. You’re a monster. You’re no goody-two-shoes. And now you’re a smoker, too. Admit it: you’re just being a devilishly handsome bad boy so you can sweep some pretty girl off her feet.”

 

Shizuo frowns now, for real. “I’m not trying to sweep any girl off her feet,” he says, and it’s pointed enough that he’s sure Izaya gets it, even sees the way the flea’s posture straightens as his back tenses, uncertainty coloring his gaze. Shizuo grins. “Wait, you think I’m devilishly handsome?”

 

Apparently Shizuo has done something right, because Izaya laughs. Not the usual cackle that sounds nothing like genuine amusement, not even the giggle Shizuo has heard a couple times when they’ve tossed shirts over lamps and pants all the way out of the room. No, this is a real, honest-to-god laugh, like Izaya is really honest-to-god delighted and surprised by Shizuo’s flirting. Because that’s what he’s doing. He’s flirting with Izaya. In his kitchen, after a long night spent in mutual vulnerability that had set Shizuo’s skin on fire with how good it had felt. He’s flirting. With Izaya.

 

After a few seconds, Shizuo finds himself laughing along, and even to him it sounds more happy and pleased than actually amused, but it doesn’t matter. They’re sitting at the table after a night spent together and now breakfast too, and Izaya is laughing with him. And even though Shizuo knows that Izaya will leave soon, will probably insult him and try to spoil what little common ground they’ve discovered today, it won’t matter, because Shizuo has heard this laugh, and has shared it, and it’s a moment he’ll never forget.

 

Izaya does leave only a few minutes later with a caustic remark and a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes, but Shizuo hardly even registers any of it.

 

He can’t look at Izaya at all without the memory of his laugh overtaking everything else.


End file.
